Wake Up Call
by Orlissa
Summary: Five times Grant Ward woke Skye up, and one when he really tried not to.


**A/N:** This is supposed to be a very, very belated birthday gift to my darling Grantsskye – I meant to finish it by her actual birthday, but… life happened, and I'm a lazy person. Sorry, dear! By the way, the story behind this is the following: when Grantsskye wrote her first meta on Tumblr, she was really insecure about it, while I acted as her cheering squad in the background. When she published it and it was _good_ , she told me that I could be her S.O. – but since I'm a morning person and she's not, she asked me not to wake her up early in the morning :P And this exchange is what prompted this little story :)

 **Summary:** Five times Grant Ward woke Skye up, and one when he really tried not to.

 **Rating:** T

 **Word Count:** 3560

 **Disclaimer:** [Insert funny text here that tells you I don't own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.]

* * *

1.

It's 6:50 am, ten minutes till their scheduled morning training is supposed to start (and he's being lenient with the seven o'clock start), and he's about to snap, because Skye's still in her bunk, probably still asleep.

6:51 am – that's when his patience ends. He marches up to her bunk and knocks on the door three times, in fast succession, almost aggressively. Nothing.

"Skye!" he says, his voice slightly raised, partly because he's startling to get angry, partly because he wants to make sure she hears him.

And she does hear him, indicated by the pained moan he hears from inside. (He can almost see her pulling the pillow over her head, and okay, it's kind of an adorable picture.)

"Training in ten," he adds somewhat softer, then leaves, confident that he's successfully woke her up.

Only seven o'clock comes, and she's still not down in the cargo hold, which really starts to test his patience (and make him question why he took up training her in the first place). So he goes up the spiral staircase once again, walks up to her door, and knocks.

"I'm up," comes her muffled voice from inside. "I really am, Robot."

He swallows a chuckle – no, he won't be amused by her antics –, and turns around, deciding to have a coffee while he waits.

But his coffee mug already in the sink, Skye's still nowhere to be seen. And that is the last straw.

He marches up to her bunk, slides her door open in one fluid motion, and–

"Ward!" Skye shrieks, clutching the shirt she has in her hands to her naked front.

Grant is out of her bunk in an instant, her door closed, his back against it. And maybe he is breathing a little heavier. And maybe he's flushed a little.

"Skye, I, uhm…" He swallows. "I'll be waiting for you downstairs."

When she walks down five minutes later, she acts like nothing has happened – well, almost.

"You know, Ward," she says with a cheeky smile as he inspects her hand wrappings, "If you wanted to sneak a peek, you could have just asked."

He definitely doesn't blush.

* * *

2.

It's late, and he's exhausted, but he's still determined to push his body to its limits, until the point where he just can't keep his eyes open any longer, because he finds that it's the best way to keep his nightmares at bay these days. So he keeps on reading in peace, quiet, alone, even if the words start to blur together under the light of his bunk's reading lamp.

But his thirst finally drives him out of his bunk.

It's late enough that he expects everybody else to be asleep – and they are. Only not everybody is in their beds.

Skye's is sprawled out on the couch, a cushion under her head, surrounded by old files haphazardly thrown all over the place.

His first thought upon seeing her could be a lot of things. For example it could be annoyance for her making a mess. Or annoyance for the fact that her sleeping out here, in that position, will surely mean that she's gonna be either late from training tomorrow, or going to spend the whole time complaining. Or possibly both. Or he could just scoff at her and walk past by her, deciding that it's not his business where she sleeps.

And yet, his first thought is that she's adorable.

She's wearing some old, faded shorts and a T-shirt that is at least three sizes too big for her. Her hair must have been in a neat braid when she fell asleep, but by now it's a mess, the short strands having escaped, framing her serene face in wayward curls. She lies curled up on her side, her feet hanging off the couch. Her long lashes cast a light shadow on her face in the ambient light, and her full lips almost curl into a smile as she sleeps.

For some reason she reminds him of a fairytale princess, waiting for her true love to wake her with a kiss.

(A part of him wants to take up that role.)

But he can't and won't, so he settles the second best thing: he gathers her papers into a neat pile, then, sliding his arms under her knees and shoulders, he lifts her from the couch – he won't have her sleeping there, mostly because, yeah, he doesn't want to listen to her complaints the next day, but also because… Well, he wants her to sleep well, in a comfortable position (no matter how adorable she looks curled up on the couch).

He takes three steps with her before she starts stirring. She lets out a low moan and nuzzles his neck, putting her arms around his neck.

"Wha'?" she asks, disoriented. He feels her lashes against his skin as her eyes flutter open.

"It's okay," he whispers, "go back to sleep." And, without realizing what he's doing, he presses a kiss against her hair. Fortunately she, for once, listens to him, and falls back asleep a moment later, maybe not even aware of his gentle gesture. She doesn't wake again as he carries her into her bunk and tucks her in, for which he's grateful.

(He won't admit it to anybody, but he stays by her bed for a while after he put her into bed, watching her curl up and hugs her pillow close, the sight making him smile.)

She doesn't mention their nighttime incident the next morning, so he doesn't, either – after all, she might not even remember it. To be honest, it would be the best for… well, he is not sure for whom, but it's the best nonetheless. Some things are better if not remembered.

* * *

3.

Things are different after she's shot, and their viewpoints on the situation sometimes… clash. As she said back in the med pod, she wants to return to training with vigor; he wants her to take it easy. She says he is treating her like she was made of porcelain (he might be); he says she's being reckless and is putting too much strain on her healing body.

Sometimes they have arguments about it – loud arguments. But in the end, they find a common ground.

And okay, he might still be coddling her a little.

First of all, he moves their morning training to eight am – he tells her she needs the extra hour of sleep now, and for once, Skye doesn't even contradict him. And she doesn't even comment on the fact that he won't lose his patience even if she's late.

Along with his attitude towards her training, his method of waking her up for it changes, too. There's no more aggressive knocking, voice raised in irritation, or barging in to her bunk.

Well, at least not the way he used to.

Now he knocks softly – just a warning, to let her know he's there and tell him to stop right there if she wants to –, then slides the door open slowly. With her still in bed, he leans over her to lift the shades, letting the morning light into the cabin. Then, ever so gently, rubs her shoulder through the blanket, coaxing her awake.

"Morning, rookie," he half-whispers as she turns in bed, letting out a little groan. "Training's in ten. Your coffee's on the counter."

"Three sugars?" she asks, rubbing her face.

"That's how you like it, don't you?" comes his answer as he turns around to leave.

She groans again as, still not yet fully awake, sits up in bed.

"You are the best, Robot," she says, maybe not even realizing what's leaving her mouth as she swings her legs over the edge of the bed.

He doesn't even try to hide his smile as he closes her door behind him.

* * *

4.

She wakes up at three a.m. to insistent knocking at her door that has her believe that the world is ending, and when she only finds Ward – drunk out of his mind, nonetheless – on the other side, she is more than pissed.

It's been three weeks since the mission to save Mike and Lincoln – three weeks since Ward proved that he can, in fact, be trusted, and three weeks since he earned his agent status back on a probationary basis. Also, it means that it's been three weeks since she's been actively avoiding him. And yet, here he is, standing at her door at three in the morning, looking at her through glazed eyes and reeking of scotch.

"Skye," he breaths in a surprisingly eligible way, then tries to take a step forward – it doesn't work that well, and Skye has to grab him under his arm to steady him before he'd fall. Taking pity on him, she leads him to her desk chair and helps him sit down, taking a seat on the bed herself.

"Skye, I'm sorry," he mumbles, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I'm so sorry. I was just so damn stupid."

"When?" she asks for clarification with her eyebrows pulled together.

"Every time," he answers. "I should have… I don't know. But since that day in the cage… with the truth serum – do you remember that? I should have loved you since then. I should have loved you so much."

As much as she is mad at him, she finds it hard not to smile, because this might just be the most surreal situation she has been in.

"I should have just said to hell with all and come clean to Coulson," he continues. "Then you wouldn't have ended up hating me. I hate that you hate me."

It seems like his drunken self doesn't care about hiding his pain in front of beautiful women, because there are tears streaming down his face, and damn it, it's actually enough for her to start feeling sorry for him.

"I don't hate you," she tells him, reaching for his hand without realizing. "But you still hurt me, and I'm mad at you." God, she is talking to him as if she were talking to a child. It would piss her off if he wasn't looking about as vulnerable right now as a puppy.

"You don't?" he asks, almost too scared to hope. She only shakes her head slowly in response. "That's great," he says, smiling shyly. "'Cause I love you. I love you so much. And it'd suck if you hated me. But anger? Anger I can manage. I can make you… un-angry. I can be good." His gaze flickers around the room while he's speaking, but then as he reaches this part, his eyes focus on her once again. "How do you want me to be good?"

The sincerity and the ridiculousness of his question actually makes her laugh.

"How about we start with you going back to you room, and sleep it off?" she suggests, to which he responds with a firm-ish nod.

"Okay," he says, then tries to stand up – which, he has to realize, is not that easy of a feast, with his coordination being completely off thanks to the amount of scotch he has consumed. The next moment, before he could try again – and, mostly likely, end up on her floor –, Skye's at his elbow, pushing him back to the chair.

"You wait here," she tells him. "I'll be back in a moment."

He grabs her wrist.

"Where are you going? Please, don't go," she pleads with her, completely terrified by the idea of her leaving him. She fights the urge to pat his head.

"I'll just grab Lance, okay? I can't help you back to your room all alone, okay? I'll be back before you know it."

He gives her a little, resigned nod.

"Okay. I'll be here, waiting for you. But hurry, okay?"

"Okay," she says, and leaves the room. By the time she returns three minutes later with a grumpy Lance Hunter in tow, Grant is already asleep in her chair.

* * *

5.

He wakes up to the sun's kiss on his bare shoulder. It's way later than he usually gets up, but for the first time in more than a decade, he finds absolutely no motivation to get out of bed. In fact, it takes a great deal of willpower just to open his eyes – but the sight that welcomes him absolutely worth it.

Skye's there next to him, lying on her stomach, her face half-buried in the soft, white pillow. Her hair is a shiny mess as the morning sun caresses it; the sheets have slipped off of her during the night, revealing her tanned back from her shoulders, down to the small of her back, just about the swell of her ass, the position she is in just teasing him with the contour of her breast.

She looks breathtaking, divine, delicious – too tempting to pass out on.

Slowly, carefully, not to wake her before time, he rises to his elbows and leans over her. He marvels at her for a moment – he can never get enough of her beauty –, then lets his mouth descend, pressing his lips fist against the center of her back, then to her left shoulder blade, then the to the curve of her shoulder, then, finally, the base of her neck, this time even giving her a bold lick.

This makes her stir. She wrinkles her nose and furrows her brows, making it clear that his attention is not that welcomed right now. When he still continues, peppering kisses down her shoulder and upper arm, she swats at him, then turns around – almost making a full turn, ending up lying on her side with back facing him, which also means that she gives him a peek of her breasts, the flash of her brown-pink nipples catching his attention.

There's no way he is going to let her sleep now.

Sliding up right behind her, pressing his body against hers, he continues his loving assault, while his hand wanders down to caress her thigh and backside.

Her breathing slowly changes, becoming a tad irregular, and then, finally, she lets out a tiny sigh – telling sign that she's wakening. This makes him smile wickedly, while his hand slowly starts its journey upwards, caressing the inward curve of her waist.

"Good morning," he breathes into her ear, just as his fingers skirt along the underside of her breast.

"It might even be that if you keep this up," she answers, her voice still laced with sleep, then lets out a tiny, blissful moan as his fingers start playing with her nipple.

"It's a good thing then that it's exactly what I am planning to do," he whispers, then takes her earlobe between his lips, sucking on it gently. The next moment he grabs her shoulders, flips her to her back – eliciting a startled squeal from her –, then settles above her, his thighs pushing her legs apart. Then, just then, does he kiss her on the lips – hungry, playful, passionate, loving. She returns the kiss with the same fervor it is given, her lips insistent against his, while a hand snakes around his neck, pulling him even closer to her.

Then the next moment she flips them around, catching him completely off-guard in the most perfect way, getting him under her and taking him inside of her in one swift, perfectly executed move.

It is good, he decides then, as Skye starts moving above him, to stay in bed in the morning once in a while.

* * *

+1

Grant has always been a light sleeper – it goes with the territory of being a spy –, but he's been even easier to pull from sleep these days. He guesses it has something to do with some kind of instinct kicking in, which, somehow, never fails to make him smile.

He wakes in an instant tonight as well, reaching for the baby monitor the moment he hears the soft whimpers that will soon change into crying on the other end of the line. He mutes the machine, takes a quick glance at the other side of the bed – thankfully, Skye's still asleep –, then throws the covers off his legs and gets out of the bed as carefully as he can, hoping that he won't wake her. One of the base's servers just crashed two days ago, and repairing that while taking care of their baby has been taking a toll on her – she more than deserves some rest.

And anyway, he doesn't mind spending time with his daughter, not even at this hour.

By the time he reaches the room next to theirs, the one they turned into a nursery, Haylie's already crying, desperate for attention, but her pitiful cries soon tame down to soft whimpers as he pick her up and starts rocking her against his chest.

"What's the matter, princess?" he asks, almost as if she could answer him.

He might be biased, but he is convinced that Haylie is the most beautiful baby on earth – she's had a full head of dark hair since the day she was born, and it's just grown thicker in the last three months; her big eyes, that he swears are just the same shape as Skye's, just started turning dark brown, also so much like her mother's (he's a goner, he knows; there's no chance in hell he'll ever to be able to say no to these eyes), while Skye insists that her other features mirror him.

A quick check tells him that her diaper is clean, and since she is still grumpy, even in his arms – so it wasn't simply attention she wanted –, he concludes that she must be hungry. He changes hold on her, and, grateful for the fact that they have some breast milk stored in the fridge (in the communal fridge; honestly, just to freak out Hunter), he starts walking out of the room, towards the kitchen.

Only to stop as soon as he steps out of the room.

Skye's in the hallway, rubbing her eyes, but pretty much awake, walking towards them.

"I'm sorry," he whispers when she is close enough to hear it. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't – well, you did." Seeing his confused expression, she gives him a little shrug, and adds, "The bed was too empty without you, that's what woke me. When I saw the baby monitor turned off, I knew where you'd be." She reaches for her daughter. "What's the problem?"

"She's hungry," he answers, not exactly willing to hand Haylie over. "But I can take care of it really. You should go back to sleep."

She gives him a silent, unwavering stare that would make even May proud.

"I have the stuff on tap, so I'm sure she'd be happier with that, rather than wait until you warm the old stuff. Now, give me my daughter!"

This time he obeys her, gently placing the still grumpy baby into her arms. Skye turns around right away, walking back to their room, with him following right behind her. Once inside, she sits down on the bed, settling against the headboard cross legged, and, while holding the baby with one hand, she starts unbuttoning the plaid shirt she sleeps in with the other. Grant doesn't join her right away – first he locates the nursing pillow and the cloth they use for burping, and only then does he sit down next to them.

To their luck, Haylie is not a fussy eater – she latches on right away, suckling happily, her eyes wide open, looking up at them. He just can't help it and reaches out with a single finger, letting her catch it and curl her tiny hand around the digit. It makes him smile how strong she is.

When she finishes a few minutes later, Grant takes her once again, laying her against his cloth-covered shoulder, gently rubbing her back. Free of her daughter and her shirt buttoned up again, Skye's laying back down, half-asleep already.

"Can you…?" she asks, but he nods yes before she could finish her sentence. "Thank you." He's sure she is asleep the next moment.

Burped, Haylie's ready to go back to sleep as well, although she is a bit stubborn about it, and he has to rock her for a minute or two before she finally succumbs to sleep.

With the sleeping baby in his arms, he looks around the room; he knows the sensible thing would be to bring Haylie back to her room. After all, it's not supposed to be good to get a child used to sleeping in her parents' bed. But honestly, he couldn't care less, and is really not ready to part with the little girl yet, not even for the night. And anyway, the bed is big enough for three.

So he lays her down in the middle, between him and Skye, then lies down next to her himself, his hand right next to her, so she can grasp at his finger in her sleep. And that's the last thing he sees before turning off the lamp and closing his eyes: his daughter next to him, and her sleeping mother behind her. His whole family, happy and safe, with him.

In that moment, he doubts he could be any happier.


End file.
